AJ and I made our inaugural pilgrimage to the pool this afternoon. Loading up an enormous backpack with drinks, snacks, towels, sunscreen, and assorted plastic frogs, fish and splashy balls, we set out in our little red wagon, inching along the hilly road. AJ road like a young prince, barking out orders from the back, as I struggled to pull close to fifty pounds of wagon, boy and gear up a hill at about a 75 degree angle.

When we arrived, AJ was mute, blinking in the sun at the splashing, laughing kids. Our neighborhood pool is a relic of our neighborhood�s grander days as the estate of a wealthy family. The pool itself was built in the 1920s, which lends it a certain amount of grace and charm. Although it is smaller than the local public pool � about the same distance from our house � it is much less populated. I counted only 12 in the pool at the height of the afternoon today. Last summer I went to every adult swim on weekend mornings and only ever encountered another swimmer once.

But despite the relative lack of swimmers, there were still a lot more people there than AJ was used to seeing on a daily basis. He loved it. He started out with a slow walk around the perimeter of the pool, reacquainting himself with his surroundings � the tiny polished stones that make up the material of the deck, the diving board, the buckets of toys, kickboards and pool noodles. He inspected the radio dial and stared at the lifeguard until she smiled at him, at which point he hurried away to the baby pool and settled in with a boat, a ball and a bucket (apparently this trip to the pool was brought to you by the letter B). I eventually lured him over to the main pool, where he sat himself down on the top step and agreed to play catch with a beach ball, with me standing in the water. He could have stayed all afternoon, but I was concerned about the mosquitoes and the sun, so after an hour and a half or so, we packed up. AJ was distressed to discover that his bathing suit was wet. I tried to explain that it is the purpose of a bathing suit to be wet, but with all of the potty training lessons of late where he has been working so hard to stay dry, I don�t think this lesson sunk in. He walked back to our wagon like a bowlegged sailor, loathe to touch his wet thighs to one another. The whole way home he chattered about how much fun he had and how he wants to go back tomorrow.

Pools were never a big part of my childhood. Most of the places I lived as a kid involved having an ocean not too far away. I learned to swim in Long Island Sound, where the salt water held you up better than pool water, but you had to contend with waves and jellyfish. Later on there were pools. I perfected my strokes in lessons at the Swiss Cottage pool in London and at the pool at my college. But because of my early ocean experiences, I feel like I have less refinement � I am the natatory equivalent of a street fighter � scrappy and tough, but without much polish. I never learned to dive or to do turns, for instance, there being a remarkable lack of boards and lanes at the beach. I also never learned how to close my eyes underwater � there is far too much to look at in the ocean. Strap on a pair of goggles and you are in another world.

Although I have a definite preference for the ocean, there is a certain Zen-like quality to the experience of swimming in a pool � particularly if you are alone in a pool � that is extremely appealing. After a few warm-up laps, where I rapidly cycle through strokes, I settle into a pattern of lengths in groups of ten: two lengths of crawl, four lengths of breaststroke, two lengths of crawl, two lengths of breaststroke. If I�m short on time, I reverse the strokes � more crawl gives a better workout more quickly. But my real strength as a swimmer is my endurance. Once I get into that pattern, I can literally swim for hours without stopping. The uneven order of the strokes helps me keep track of how far I�ve gone, leaving my mind free to wander onto more interesting subjects. The physical motion, the sensation of water on skin, the repetitive nature of a swim all helped to calm and focus me.

I could use a little of that focus at the moment. AJ refused to stay in bed, getting up at least seven times in the hour after he was first put to bed. In the end, I put him back in the crib for the first time in weeks and he finally went to sleep. We have left the crib up in his room for just this purpose, for those nights where nothing short of a straitjacket will keep him down. I hate ending the day angry with him. I am forced to focus on my less stellar moments of parenting. I know I, too, am likely to be jumping out of bed a lot this evening. On the other hand, I will not have a little boy prying my eyes open at 5 a.m. to ask if it is time to get up yet. I think we could all use a little more sleep.

[second entry today]

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